Chapter 1: Prologue

Prologue

To most, he was known as a ruthless king, towering above all beings. To others, he was known as an ally, a friend, a guardian. 

As one who has reached the pinnacle of this world, everything seemed so small, so meaningless. The ground beneath him, the mountains that stretched for miles, even the skies that seemed to have no limits—it could all disappear as easily as he breathed.

However, not even he could tamper with the string of fate—the fate of life and death.

The King of Demons, also known as The Heavenly Demon— King Karnus. There was a time when hearing his name was enough to strike fear into those who opposed him. However, that time had passed.

King Karnus rose from his seat, the weight of time pressing against him. 

Then, bare feet against the stone. A soft echo. He opened his eyes.

A boy stumbled toward him, clutching his hand. A thin line of blood ran down his wrist, trailing from a shallow cut.

The flame dimmed slightly.

Clutching the side of his hand, it seems he had cut himself during his training earlier. 

"I'm fine, grandfather," the boy mumbled.

Karnus crouched, examining the wound without a word. His finger hovered above it. A single pulse of heat shimmered in the air—and just like that, the flesh knit itself closed. 

"Not fine," Karnus said simply.

The boy flushed, lowering his gaze. "I didn't mean to be careless."

"You weren't." Karnus's gaze drifted over the boy's shoulder.

"Someone else was."

A figure stood at the cavern entrance—a young demon, no more than a few decades old. His robes bore the crest of Karnus's household, though it seemed even that could not shield him from what followed.

"You saw him come in," Karnus said.

The servant bowed instantly, forehead against stone. "Yes, my king."

"You saw his blood?"

A flicker. "I... I did not, my king."

The cavern cooled. The fire stilled. The shadows stopped moving.

Karnus didn't speak. He didn't move. He only looked—head tilted ever so slightly, as if studying something already broken.

The servant's breath hitched.

There was no warning. No gesture. Only a sudden, horrible pull in the air. As if the flame behind them had inhaled.

In the space between one blink and the next, the servant was gone.

Ash drifted down where he once stood. 

The boy stared, mouth open. Not a word escaped him, but his fingers curled into Karnus's sleeve, small and trembling.

Ash still drifted where the servant had stood. The silence that followed wasn't peaceful. It pressed in—dense, heavy. But Karnus didn't move. Didn't speak. He stood like stone, as if this was nothing new.

The boy swallowed hard. "Why did you...?" His voice cracked, too small for the space it filled.

"If you bleed," Karnus said without turning, "and they do not notice—then they are already blind."

The boy's gaze dropped. He looked down at his healed hand, then back at the ash, unsure of what answer he was really searching for.

He was still so young. Far too young to carry that look in his eyes—the quiet burn of someone who already knew the world wasn't fair. But Karnus saw it. Saw himself. That same hunger, the old fire he once buried behind steel and silence. That restless need to prove something, even if no one was watching.

The boy looked up at him. "But I need to get stronger, grandfather. They won't wait for us to prepare ourselves."

"They?" Karnus repeated. He'd known the boy was curious and couldn't help but listen in on conversations he had with others, but this—he was too young to be asking these questions.

His eyes dropped to the floor. "The humans… the elves… the dwarves… all of them. Why do they all think we are evil? Did we do anything bad for them to hate us?" the little boy asked.

Such a curious soul, his eyes filled with anticipation for an answer. Unknown to him, his words struck a memory Karnus had once tried to forget.

"They hate us because it's easier than trying to understand," he replied, his voice thick with a bitterness he long tried to swallow. "They call us evil because that is all they know. A story told for generations, a lie they have been taught to believe."

"But, grandfather, you don't seem evil to me. Neither do Mom or Dad, nor any of my friends that I play with," as his voice was filled with the innocence of youth.

Karnus placed his hand on his head, ruffling his hair gently. His horns were still small, his fangs still dull. But one day, just as they will grow, so will the weight of his responsibility. He didn't need to understand just yet, but one day, he will.

"You are right," the king said quietly. "I don't believe any of us are truly evil, yet the world will make sure we'd never get the chance to prove otherwise."

The boy looked at him, confusion written all over his face. "But if we're not evil, then why does everyone fight us? Why do they all want us gone?"

King Karnus sighed, the sound low and heavy. This was what he had feared. It was a question he had asked himself many times over the centuries. But no matter how many times he asked, he could never come to an answer.

"Because it's easier to fight what they fear than to understand it. If they tried to understand, they'd see the enemy wasn't all that different—and that is a truth too cruel for them to bear."

They both stared into the fire, filled with only the sounds of embers cracking and the glow of the full moon. His small hands gripped his sword as his young mind struggled to understand the weight of this world's history, one that his grandfather tried to shield him from.

Finally, he spoke again.

"Will it ever end, grandfather? Will they ever stop hating us?"

Karnus looked into his innocent eyes, full of hope and glimmer. It seems this conversation was still far too early for him. However, his words evoked a strange emotion—a small spark inside the king, a feeling he hadn't allowed himself to feel for a long time.

He sighed, looking down at the fire. "I don't know, child. Maybe one day, there will be someone who will rise. Someone who can see beyond the generational lies, someone who questions the very existence of this world." 

The boy opened his mouth again—another question forming. Karnus didn't want to answer him anymore. He simply exhaled.

The fire dimmed. The cave grew still. With a wave of his hand, the boy's eyes grew heavy. Sleep crept in like a shadow slipping under the door.

Within moments, he slumped against Karnus's side, his breathing soft and even.

Karnus wrapped the cloak around him, his gaze never leaving the fire. 

As the boy drifted off to sleep, he himself continued to stare into the flames. Reaching out, he placed his hands over the fire, casting a shadow over his scars—marks not from age, but from the centuries of conflict he had endured.

The question continued to echo in his mind.

"Why do they all think we're evil?"

He put his face in his hands as he let out a heavy sigh. Karnus knew that even if he figured out the truth, it would not matter. Not only would the world not care for it, but age was catching up to him, as he was no longer able to carry that kind of burden.

"Maybe someone will come," he murmured. "Someone with the ability to shake up the world, not through the sword, but through their words."

For the first time in centuries, he allowed himself to hope. However, his people were dying, vanishing in silence. Forgotten, erased, their stories used as a stepping stone for the legends of their enemies.

King Karnus could only pray that fate would answer his pleas before the last of his kind faded into dust.